


Through The Looking Glass

by macabreverbosity



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland Fusion, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Detailed descriptions, Established Relationship, Gothic, Horror, Hux and Kylo know nothing and it's for the best, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Relationships, Implied Slash, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, M/M, Mirror Universe, Mirrors, Monster!Snoke, Monsters, Psychological Horror, Snoke is creepy, Stalking, tangentially and it's with mirrors and not rabbit holes, the force does not exist and we are not in space, the relationship tag is ubiquitous and I use it as such, this is an excuse to describe things in overwrought detail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:50:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabreverbosity/pseuds/macabreverbosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirror worlds exist, what's behind the mirrors is almost always not pleasant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through The Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kylo Hux (Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loki_Likey_Thor_Odinson/gifts).



> _Though your secrets are safe,_   
>  _I am the mirror who can’t let go._
> 
>  
> 
>  _With hair as Black as night,_  
>  _her skin, a dead, pearly White,_  
>  _and blood red, on the bathroom wall…_  
>     
> \- "Mirrors" by Envy on the Coast.
> 
> Title from the book by Lewis Carroll
> 
> So a few things, the Mature tag is just to be safe it's not indicative of any sexual content because there isn't any, this is purely creepy exposition. Kylo Ren doesn't exist in this universe in the same sense he does in canon. Snoke is just creepy.

Imagine through your mirror…

 

_The soft rhythmic sound of a bone colored porcelain brush being run through hair permeates the oppressive dark—a soft and soothing rustling sound._

_The room is a faded, badly aged and ill-lit mess of oddities._

_There are Victorian style dresses with tears in the fine materials—a burgundy colored elegant gown torn to absolute tatters, an emerald colored high-collared dress with a gaping rip in the bodice; as if from a knife, long white gloves with faded rust colored stains as though blood had been allowed to dry on them, sticking out listlessly from the half open drawer of a gilded mahogany armoire.  All, irreparably damaged from misuse or neglect, it made no difference—Brocade waistcoats with worn thin cuffs and torn ruffled collars, from lovers and lives past and forgotten, now simply remembrances in a faded  lonely room of secrets and mismatched keepsakes._

_The furniture was all elegant, it spoke of a refined taste, depending more on true superiority of natural tactfulness than want of flamboyance and unnecessary grandeur. It bespoke of coveteousness and a collector’s sensibilities, antique and sans pareil. The lacquer was still relatively well preserved if cracked and chipped completely at odd places. The patterns on the double door closet, had long since faded too thoroughly to be discerned as anything more than vague areas of faded sporadic color, a few vivid splashes, beyond all expectation, still perfectly visible. Despite the elegance of the room, it had the overwhelming morbidity of a grave, it felt as though something had been left to decay very slowly in near solitude, forgotten and terrible. The smells of death and decay weaved gracelessly between the furnishings, caressing them, almost, like a physical touch._

_The rustling of hair through the bristles of the brush still permeated the air. It was a fine brush, bone white and finely hand carved. A stark contrast to the dingy surroundings. It was a new brush, with ornate carvings on the back—a beautiful ballerina mid pirouette, her body arching gracefully to an unheard rhythm.  It was a favorite new trinket. It had been a “gift”, a wonderful, glorious gift. Oh, it would be such fun._

_The room smelled of mildew, asbestos and things that had been left to rot for far too long. Sinister things that clung to the shadows, slithering across the surfaces of walls, tables, armoires—slick and black as oil—grimy and greasy to the touch._

_The dark tendrils reaching out to the only living being in the room. Almost caressing and cradling the figure cloaked in black, sitting on a stool facing the gilded oval mirror. The mirror rippled like the surface of a pond disturbed by the slightest of breezes._

_The cloaked figure was barely discernible as something vaguely humanoid in shape. Long mangled face—scar tissue warping the skin and shape of the skull hideously—glowing with an almost ethereal aura, skin ashen; a sickly, decaying grey, blue veins spidered out under the delicate translucent skin. It clung to his sharp cheekbones like gossamer stretched over bone. Wide, sunken eyes, black as night and hard as flint, seemed to flow and undulate with the darkness, draw power from it, there was a quiet hum of understanding, this man was the darkness, he fed off of it, he fed it, darkness was mother’s milk and soothing balm. He looked into the darkness and the darkness stared back, but in understanding, in welcome, in comradery. He smiled a small twisted smile that would freeze the blood in one’s veins and send shivers of unease down one’s spine, had there been anyone else to witness the monstrosity._

_His long gnarled fingers, were knobby and topped by long blood red claws, one hand curled delicately around the brush, still rhythmically running it through the hair of the small doll before him, the other smoothing the hair down in its wake. He smiled wider, scar tissue pulled tightly across bone and his thin, pale, cracked lips stretching wide over impossibly sharp teeth, like tiny needles, each one deadly, designed to rip through flesh and bone._

_He started to hum a soft, oddly calming tune; like an old lullabye from those antique music boxes with little elegant women dancing in circles and pirouettes. Beautiful, porcelain white, dead unblinking eyes and empty gash-like smiles. Forever stuck in that moment of music. Endless suspension. Weaving and bobbing to the nuisances of the notes that hovered poignantly in the dim light. The humming begun gradually taking on a clamoring and sick rhythm, a small ripple of sound bouncing off the walls and echoing in ominous waves._

_Still humming he set the brush down with great care and extended one hand towards the mirror, the mirror did not reflect back his own image, it rippled, almost testily, displaying a distorted image of a man with a pale but healthy complexion, face long and dotted with freckles here and there. When the mirror settled— his fingers still suspended in the air, mid touch, mere inches from caressing the surface—he was able to get a good look at the man. Longish dark brown hair that barely brushed his shoulders and dark, dark, fathomless eyes, glowing with an innocence and warmth that offended and enticed. What he would give for a taste of that essence._

_The man leaned forward, his face getting closer to the surface of the mirror but he would not be able to see a thing but his own reflection, completely oblivious to the world just a thin veil away. The fingers resumed their path forward and traced the sharp curve of the man’s face with an adoring hand._

_My, but he was exquisite. Just as finely made as his exquisitely carved brush—a gift from his mother, it seemed. He would do. He would do just fine._

_“Soon.” The word is said with a steely rasp behind the voice; born of infrequent use, it had been a long time since he had found a need to talk, there never seemed to be much occasion for conversation. Another face intruded quite abruptly from behind the man, this shorter man with neat fiery hair, wrapped his arms around the taller man and offered his lips for a kiss that was reciprocated enthusiastically. It was of no matter, the redhead was of no consequence; there would be nothing he could do; not a single thing._

_Still tracing the man’s features with one long claw tipped finger, even after he had left, excitement filled the room, a sick clamoring malicious excitement._ **Exquisite** _, he thought,_ **wondrous** **_._ **

 

_Yes, he would be, indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr [here](murderdollls.tumblr.com)  
> 


End file.
